Home
by howimetneilpatrickharris
Summary: One shot, Swarkles. Barney and Robin dealing with long distance.


**Inspired by Home by Michael Bublé, which I have listened to 24235 times tonight.**

He slowly sipped a can of Red Bull - his third that day. It bordered on painful, trying not to fall asleep, but he'd become almost accustomed to it. 'It' being running on four hours a night. At his desk, he stayed awake to prevent the arousal of any unwanted suspicion from coworkers. In the bar, he stayed awake so that Ted stopped asking questions. In their bedroom, at midnight, he stayed awake to make sure that he didn't miss the phone call. He'd never chance his ringtone not being loud enough to wake him up - God knows he'd learnt to sleep through an alarm. He never knew when the call would come, he just knew that it would, and that he'd answer it before the second ring sounded. Sometimes it came with a lull in her day, sometimes when she got back to her hotel room. On occasion, it was when she woke up in the morning, which to him was still the middle of the night. But whenever it came, he answered.

Tonight, he was in bed, the phone subconsciously placed where she would be if she wasn't half-way across the globe. He lay on his side, clutching the phone more tightly than he was aware he had the strength to, his knuckles whitening as he willed it to ring. The only thing he wanted more than to let himself drift off was to hear her gorgeous voice, even if it was only for a couple of minutes - which, ordinarily, it would be. He yawned, blinking hard and running his free hand over his face, as the phone wailed next to him. Suddenly, he was wide awake, sitting bolt upright and furiously pressing the Answer button as he composed himself.

"Morning." He greeted, the smirk plastered on his face bleeding into his tone. "Or evening. It's morning here. Just. Middle of the night, really."

"Midday." She corrected, chuckling lightly. Barney frowned - he knew a fake laugh when he heard one, especially from her. "How are you? You sound exhausted." She added, as the background noise diffused. He smiled to himself.

"I'm fine, baby, how are you?"

Silence.

"…Baby?"

"I'm okay." She paused. "I miss you." Every blonde hair on his body stood on end. She only ever told him how much she'd missed him when she was already enveloped once more in his arms, and his shirt, and his jacket, and the stuffy airport air.

"I miss you too." He told her, sincerely and yet cautiously. "I wrote you a letter at work today." He mused aloud, his fingers fumbling with the duvet cover.

"Did you send it?" She asked, knowing the answer.

"No. Didn't like it. I kept it though, you can read it when you come home." She stayed silent, knowing what was coming next. "When are you coming home?"

"Tuesday." The answer came too quickly. He nodded, as though he thought she could see him.

"How's Paris?"

"Rome." She corrected, followed by a sigh. "Kind of lonely without Marshall and Lily here." _Kind of lonely without you here._

"Four days, Scherbatsky. You'll be alright." He believed it, but Robin wasn't sure if she did anymore. A quiet, stifled sob came from the other end of the line. The tranquility laced through every word of his reply was nothing if not deceptive as he shifted frantically on the mattress. "Hey, hey. Don't cry." He soothed. "Where's this coming from?"

"I want to go home."

"I know, baby. I know. Four days."

"No, Barney. I want to go home and stay home." He laughed. "I mean it!"

"No you don't." He almost wished she did mean it, but he knew she didn't.

"Yes I do. Do you know how it feels to be forever surrounded by a million people and still feel alone? I want to wake up and see you, not the peeling wallpaper in the room of a hotel deemed four-star by someone who literally has to be blind." He smiled to himself, treasuring any glimpse of her sense of humour.

"I want that too but you know it doesn't work like that. We tried it." And they really did, but being left alone in a hotel room all day was even more painful than waiting for a phone to ring. There was never a distraction.

"I know. It's not your dream." She sniffled, as he smiled.

"No, baby. It's not. But it is yours, and that's why | believe in it. I believe in _you_. Four days." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, and then ten until the next trip."

"So then we treasure the ten and you call me at stupid o'clock for the next five." He casually told her, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and she couldn't help but fall in love with him all over again. He heard a faint knock on the door echo through the line.

"Hang on." She muttered, as she opened the door. She was met with a producer, who gave her no more than a time. She "I have to go." She told him regretfully.

"Okay."

"Do you want me to just text you tomorrow?"

"No! No. I'll be here. Call me when you can."

"I love you." (Robin Scherbatsky, 'I Love You' Slut, relative exclusively to Barney Stinson).

"I love you too. It'll all be alright. Four days." And that was it, following a promise made a long time ago that prevented the ending of any conversation with 'goodbye'.


End file.
